


Watch Me, Watch You

by toewsyourheart



Series: Work Song [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Separation Anxiety, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pat deals with being left at home without Jon & hockey while the team's on the road.<br/>Features skype and surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch Me, Watch You

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same ‘verse as “Biking Back to Sanity,” where things are happening in the not-at-all real present. From Saturday, before the Dallas game and after.

Patrick trudges up the stairs after his workout, feeling especially shitty. He’d done four miles on Jonny’s best friend in their basement—the stationary bike—and really just needs a shower. He’s in a better place about the injury, honestly, has made his peace with it. Just doing his best to get back in the game as soon as possible now—been hanging out at the rink quite a bit and actually skated yesterday. So, Pat’s in high spirits, getting better, progressing, you know..for the most part.

But _today_ is a different story. Pat’s just feeling a little grouchy, got an edge to his thoughts that he’s only recently discovered he feels when Jonny leaves to go on road trips without him; Fucking irritating him to be left at home when _he_ should be there too.

That’s why, after his shower, when he plops down on the couch and starts scrolling through his Twitter feed, the quotes from Jon kind of rub him the wrong way.

‘Getting a break from that guy is just a weight off your shoulders.’ Patrick scoffs and rolls his eyes. _Oh okay._

He keeps scrolling and sees yet another. ‘Just getting a break from that guy. I just feel like I can really be myself out there.’ _Whatever._

Too annoyed to stop himself, he closes Twitter and punches out a text to Jon, wishing he still had a flip phone or something so he could realize his frustrations in the click of the buttons.

_Ur hilarious asshole. don’t quit ur day job. 2:24 PM._

He tosses his phone to the other side of the couch and starts flinging pillows around, looking for the elusive fucking remote, just trying to watch some Netflix. He’s in such a bad mood Pat wonders if he should skip TV and go straight to bed. Least he can do is nap here, be with the team vicariously through sleep or some shit, whatever. He and Jon would probably be settling in for a pre-game nap right about now anyway. 

Huffing out a breath, he heaves himself off the couch and drags his feet towards the stairs, not even bothering to grab his phone. Nap it is. When he gets to their room, he climbs onto the bed and gets under the covers, snatching Jonny’s pillow and giving it a vigorous fluff before he stuffs it under his head. 

Patrick is fully aware Jonny was only kidding. He knows the deal, that’s their thing—chirping each other to the media. He _knows_ that, and it’s fine. But _, fuck_ , he’s fucking dying here, hates not being with the team. And he _misses_ Jonny like hell when he’s away, God—and doesn’t like hearing Jonny suggest that he feels the opposite, even if he knows that’s stupid. _Of course_ Jon misses him too. Pat’s just feeling salty, needs to nap it off. He turns over on his back, adjusts so his shoulder is comfortable, and stares up at the ceiling for a bit. He tries to think calming thoughts of hotel rooms, suitcases, hockey, and Jon, and falls into a seemingly restful sleep.

 

* * *

He wakes some time later and groans, stretches his arms over his head, feeling much better—agitation from earlier gone. He blows out a breath and shakes his head thinking of how crazy he was being, getting pissy at Jonny for some shit he rambled off to the media for Christ’s sake. He needs to get out of the house. 

But first he goes for another shower to knock the sleep off, takes his time with it. He even washes his face with a couple of the fifteen some-odd bottles of scrubs and cleansers Jon’s got lining the shelf here, choosing the ones he always sees him using. He’s kissed and nuzzled Jonny’s face a thousand times after he uses this shit—most of it homemade, obviously, because he’s a nut—and the familiar, minty smell settles something inside him, but stirs something else. _God_ , he misses Jon. 

He works the shampoo into his hair, imagines Jonny’s strong hands on his scalp instead of his own, and contemplates where he wants to get dinner as he rinses it out. His curls are getting longer now, hanging loose and wet down the back of his neck. Gotta have the mullet ready for the playoffs, too.

As he’s pulling on some clothes after, he decides it’ll be Palace Grill for dinner. He likes to get it when Jonny isn’t around because he always gives Pat grief about eating “that greasy shit.” He decides he’ll go to the grocery and get some healthy stuff too, to try and appease Jon even though he’s not actually here to catch him cheating on their diet.

He chuckles to himself, smiling fondly—Jonny’s something else, making him better from miles away—and heads downstairs to get his phone. It’s 5:30; he’s got plenty of time before puck drop. He’s also got two texts from Jon. 

‘ _Ah c’mon, babe._ ’ _3:31._

_‘Still pretending to be mad?’ 4:45._

Oh, fuck him, the smug bastard. Like Pat’s incapable of being mad, _yeah right_.

He types out, _not pretending,_ and hits send even though he isn’t really mad anymore. The least he can do is make Jonny work for it a little, after that comment. Pat heads out the door, off to run some errands and pick up a delicious, greasy cheeseburger before going home to catch the game.

* * *

  

Pat makes it back by the middle of the first period to find that things are not good—everyone looks half asleep. Passes aren’t connecting. They can’t get the puck into the offensive zone, holes all in their defensive coverage… Just a total shit show. 

Forty minutes, three more Stars goals, and a thousand stick slams from Jonny later, the final horn sounds and Pat is so relieved. He won’t even pretend to be mad at Jon after this, knows _that_ was punishment enough. He switches to Netflix, decides on Parks and Rec before bed to lift his spirits and pass the time until Jon texts him that he’s back at the hotel.

A couple episodes later, he hears his phone vibrate on the coffee table and snatches it up quickly. It’s Jonny, of course. 

‘ _brutal, eh?_ ’ _10:35 PM._

Pat replies, _definitely, but it happens. just gotta shake it off_. Then, _back at the hotel?_

His phone vibrates again immediately. _‘yeah, about to go to bed, I guess. I’ll talk to you in the morning.’_

Pat’s face falls a little—he was hoping Jonny would want to talk before bed. Maybe he’s grouchier than Pat thought. He types out, _ok Jon, try and relax. get some sleep._

He doesn’t get anything in response, so he switches off the TV and makes his way upstairs to get ready for bed himself. Stripped down to only his boxers, he hops into bed and settles in with a book he’s been trying to get through. It’s decent—some sci-fi mystery novel he borrowed from Duncs a month or so ago.

Pat feels the buzz of his phone again and perks up—it’s Jonny again.

 _‘hey wanna skype?’ 10:53._ He must be feeling guilty about pissing Pat off earlier and then not even wanting to talk before bed.

He reaches for his laptop on the floor and types out a ‘ _sure,’_ chuckling to himself. When the window pops up though, his laughter dies, and he sucks in breath, mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of him.

He’s got the laptop on the bed at his side, far enough away that Pat’s got a good view of _everything_. Of Jonny just lying there in those fucking obscene black shorts he wears, propped halfway up on a pillow, with the knee closest to the camera pulled up towards him. He’s got his head turned, looking over at Pat, cheeks flushed, and he’s breathing kind of hard. Jesus, he’s been doing angry push-ups or something, Pat knows it.

“Jonny, you been working hard over there, babe?” Pat asks, brow creasing as he takes in the flush of Jonny’s chest and neck and the frustration on his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Something like that. What you doing there?” he asks, nodding towards the book on Pat’s chest.

“Just reading. I thought you were going to sleep? Surely you’re not that heated about tonight. It was just a shit game, man. It happens.” Pat says.

“Oh, I know, I know. I’m fine…I just—you said to, uh, relax, and I was trying, but I _can’t_..” he trails off, huffing out a breath, and something clicks in Pat’s head. He takes in Jonny’s appearance again—flushed all over, breathing harsh. Oh my god, how did he not catch on sooner? Jon’s frustrated all right, just not about that game, apparently.

“ _Ooooh oookay_ ,” Pat says, drawing out the words, cheeks rising in the smuggest grin he can manage. He tosses his book aside—this is about to get good. “I see what this is. _You’re_ jerking it and you can’t get the job done without me, huh?” He stabs his finger in Jonny’s direction for emphasis.

Jonny just groans in response, cheeks getting redder, and lets his head fall back on the pillow. He runs a hand though his hair before he brings it down to rub up and down his thigh tensely, like he’s truly on edge. Pat tracks the motion of his hand, feels the warmth start to pool in his belly and a shiver run down his spine at the sight of Jonny like this. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he repeats. “C’mon, Pat.” He turns his head, scorching eyes focused on him now. “Help me out here,” he moans on, reaching between his legs to fist himself through his shorts. God, he’s so fucking hot, and Pat’s so easy for this, but he’s gotta put up a little resistance here. Jonny wasn’t even taking him seriously earlier—not that he should have really, but damn.. 

Time to make him eat his words, Pat thinks, and laughs a little, trying to focus on speaking coherently.

“Oh, me?” he asks innocently, gesturing to himself with a hand on his chest before continuing, “But I thought you were feeling so great in my absence, Jonathan? What was that you said?” Jonny lets his leg drop down and Pat can see that he’s got his dick in his hand now, fully hard, and _oh god_ , Patrick’s losing track of his argument here. “‘Like a weight has been lifted off your, uh, shoulders..?” he trails off, losing his momentum, and swallows hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pat, give it up—you know I didn’t mean that,” he whines, exasperated with this pretense of anger Pat’s got going. “And you’re not even—” he swallows, getting lost in his own hand working his cock, stroking lazily up and down, while Pat watches, “—mad about that. C’mon, you know I always want you with me. Don’t make me beg.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pat groans out, quickly moving the laptop over to the pillow next to him, adjusting his own half-hard dick in his boxers, the little noises Jonny’s making absolutely killing him. This is another reason why he doesn’t like being fucking left at home on the goddamn road trips.

He turns over on his side facing Jon and decides to give him exactly what he knows he wants—appreciation for this fucking show he’s putting on.

“What do you want, Jon? For me to tell you how fucking hot you look? Because, my god, you’re _ridiculous_ right now,” he says, lowering his voice, and Jonny groans, tilting his head back, and speeds his hand on his dick. He knows he’s got Patrick in the game now.

Pat continues, words spilling out of his mouth, encouraged by the reaction he’s getting from Jon. “God, look at you. So fucking hot for this. Hot for me watching you, huh? Making it so good for me, Jon—I’ll be thinking about this for the rest of my life, about how you couldn’t get off without me. Needed me to see you.” 

Jonny’s so into it, eyes screwed shut, panting hard. He rolls his hips up into his fist, meeting the tight strokes he got going. Then he drags his other hand up his abs to his chest, glistening with sweat now from his exertions, and starts tweaking his nipples. He pinches one, then the other, and the noises coming out of his mouth, little gasps and groans and chants of ‘oh, oh,’ over and over. _Holy fucking shit_ , this is going to put Pat in his grave, hotter than any porn he could ever dream up himself. Jonny brings his knee up again like he can’t help it, blocking Pat’s view.

“Hey, drop it—can’t see,” Pat says immediately, not wanting to miss single a fucking second of this. He runs the heel of his hand down the length his dick, which is practically at full attention by now. God, he wishes he were there—he could be fucking Jon, taking care of them _both_.

Jonny puts his leg back down, digs his heels into the mattress, letting out little grunts that make Patrick’s cock twitch against his hand.

“Fuck, Jon. Look at me, baby,” Pat says, voice thick and gravelly with arousal. Jonny lowers his hips to the bed, but doesn’t still the movement of his hands. He lets his head fall to the side, and Patrick licks his lips. 

Jonny’s eyes are blown black, his mouth parted, so gone for this. And Pat knows Jonny’s close so he keeps it up. “Watch me watch you. That’s what you want, right? Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, Jonny. Wish I was there to get my hands on you, get my dick in you—know that’s _really_ what you want,” Pat groans, and that does it.

Jonny moans out, “Pat—oh _God_ ,” and then he’s coming in hot spurts all over his abs, breathing ragged.

“Yeah, just like that, babe. Bet they can hear you next door.” Jonny just gets louder at that, jacking himself through his orgasm, and Patrick whines and quickly grabs the base of his dick through his boxers, trying to keep from cashing in before he’s even properly gotten a hand on himself. 

He waits as patiently as he can while Jonny gathers himself, slows his breathing. When he finally opens his eyes, he looks straight at Pat and nods towards his dick straining against the fabric. “Your turn, Pat. Let me see you.”

“You got it.” Pat tugs his boxers down quickly, freeing himself, as he rolls to his back. “Won’t last, _ah_ —” Pat pauses, whining when his hand finally makes skin-on-skin contact with his dick, feels so good. “—too long. _Fuck_. Got me so hot, Jonny,” Pat pants.

He sees Jon lean forward, watching him intently, not even bothering to tuck himself back into his shorts yet. “Fuck yeah, you’re close, huh? I was lying here earlier, Pat, trying to think of you, pretend it was your hand on me, but it wasn’t enough…Fucking _needed_ _you_ , Pat. Bet you’d need me too. When’s the last time you came without me, huh?” he asks, voice low, filthy. The show’s not over—he’s still driving Pat insane, just with his words now.

Pat’s got a frantic rhythm going, riding the edge, about half a second from losing it. Jonny knows that, too, says, “God, Pat, you look so good. C’mon—give it up. Come for me, baby,” and it pushes him over the edge.

“Jon, oh, fuck,” he groans, biting down on his bottom lip, stifling a moan as he spills over his fist, coming so hard he sees spots.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasps, breathing harsh, and turns his head to look at Jon. He reaches his hand out and lets it fall towards the laptop, towards Jonny.

Jonny reaches forward and touches the screen in return, and Pat closes his eyes and pretends he can feel it on his skin. “Miss you, Pat,” he breathes out. “Always wish you were here with me, you know that,” he says, repeating his words from earlier.

“I know, Jonny. I know. I miss you, too,” Pat responds, still trying to catch his breath. He feels the truth of that resonate in his gut, in how big the bed feels without Jon beside him. “ _And_ I’m offended you didn’t consult me from the get-go here.”

“Don’t know what I was thinking. You usin’ my pillow?” Jonny asks with a smirk, making eyes behind Pat’s head.

“Yeah.. Sucks when you’re not home,” Pat mumbles, voice small.

“Hey, I’ll meet you back here tomorrow night, eh?” he asks, sounding hopeful. “Then I’ll be home before you know it,” he adds, trying to comfort him, and yawns sleepily.

“I can get behind that,” Pat says, smiling softly, and Jonny just grins.

“I bet you can,” he says. “Love you, Peeks.”

“Love you, too, Jon,” he responds, and shuts off the light. They both leave the call connected without question, and Pat falls asleep to the comforting sound of Jonny’s heavy breathing coming through the speakers.

**Author's Note:**

> My first go at writing something porn-ish. eeeekk..
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feedback is welcome and appreciated! :)


End file.
